Jumping to Conclusions
by Bronwyn Fox
Summary: Oneshot right after Advent Children . . . Cloud takes a delivery and things go very wrong for him, even when he gets home.


Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to these characters. I've taken them just for a while and I promise to give them back when I'm done.

Note: This is my first (and, perhaps, only) FF7 fanfic. Please review to let me know how bad it was so I can decide whether or not to ever try this again. Thanks, and enjoy!

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Cloud pushed the door open wearily, never once expecting the cold reception he would get at Seventh Heaven. On the verge of collapse, he relied only on surprise to keep himself on his feet when Tifa rounded on him and started to yell. Vincent, silent as usual, ushered them all the way through the door and then leaned against it, his own wounds begging for attention. But he gave himself no satisfaction as he tried to think of a way to help his friend get out of this undeserved tongue-lashing.

"How could you?" Tifa snapped, as though this dam of emotions was something she'd been trying to hold back for a long time. "I trusted you when you said you'd be back. Marlene and Denzel trusted you. We thought you had changed, but you left the next morning, just like usual."

The pounding in his head and agony of his wounds made it hard for Cloud to keep up with her as she yelled at him. He hadn't broken any promises; of that he was sure. And yet Tifa seemed extremely upset at him for something. Now it was only sheer will and confusion that allowed him to remain upright.

"Tifa . . ." he tried, his voice sounding pathetic even to his own ears.

But she didn't let him get started, and paid no heed to the pitiful way he sounded. "Do you know how worried I was?" she continued. "I've been going crazy. The kids have been whining for you all week. A week! Granted, that's better than you used to do, but you had only been back to us for one day when you disappeared again, Cloud. _One day_."

The edges of his vision were beginning to darken. He desperately tried to find a way to stop the impending darkness, or at least to stave it off until he had worked out this problem, but there was no way. He took an involuntary step backward, his legs hitting a chair. He nearly toppled over right then.

"I know you've been troubled. Anyone could see that. But you can't keep doing this to us. To me. I need you to stop."

Still begging his brain to put the pieces of this puzzle together and inform him of what was going on, Cloud could only stare in utter confusion. The darkness was almost everywhere. He still attempted to fight it, but ultimately, he succumbed. The last thing he would remember was trying very weakly to say, "I'm . . . sorry . . ."

Tifa was shocked when Cloud apologised in a tiny voice and suddenly crumpled in a boneless heap over the back of the chair he'd run into. She glanced at Vincent, not waiting for a response, then looked back at the blond fighter, whose legs were sprawled over the seat of the chair, the rest of him on the ground. And then, for the first time since she'd seen him, her eyes were drawn to his torso. One hand still unconsciously hung over the right side of his ribcage, unsuccessfully making an effort to protect – or even hide – the growing stain of blood on his clothes. Her jaw dropped, and she again looked to Vincent, also noting that he was similarly bleeding.

"Are you--" She began to ask him a question, but cut herself off almost immediately. Guilt swept over her like wildfire as she finally realised why Cloud hadn't answered her. She had no idea how he and Vincent had come to be in their present state, but regardless of that, she had to do something to help.

"Sit down," she commanded Vincent, mildly surprised when he crossed the room, obeying with no objections. "I'm going to grab some towels. And when I get back, you need to explain what's going on." Once again, without waiting for a response, she sprinted away to get a first aid kit and towels. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of her mind, she congratulated herself on not panicking. But she knew that the emotion of the situation would hit her later. Hard.

Neither of the two men had moved an inch in the few minutes she'd been gone, and the first thing Tifa did was gently pull the chair away from Cloud's limp body. She reached for his neck to check for a pulse, happy when she felt even the slow and unsteady throb under her fingers. She shot an expectant glance at Vincent and then began removing straps, sheaths, and cloth that blocked her from fully attending the wound.

"He was making that delivery," Vincent began in a raspy voice. "You remember, the one right after he helped to heal the children with the stigma? It was going to be a short job – an hour or two. And since he was so close, he decided to drop in to make sure I was okay.

"We figured we could stop to have a drink together while we were out. It was only another hour. He was pretty excited to come back here. Said he'd finally found his place and he wasn't as broken anymore. But things didn't go according to plan. Some men jumped us when we were coming out of the bar. There were too many of them, and they had some powerful magic on their side. Between the two of us, we only managed to take down about twelve of them before we were captured. And then they injected us with something."

Tifa's heart had been pounding unmercifully during Vincent's terse story. She never should have been so angry at Cloud when he'd come in. He'd looked so lost, trying to keep up but failing miserably, and she had unfairly assumed he just didn't want to deal with the situation at that moment. She gasped when she finally peeled back the last layer of his clothing, revealing a deep sword slash that leaked blood too readily.

"When I woke up, Cloud was already awake and fighting for everything he was worth. He had somehow gotten free of his restraints and used fists to take people down. They threatened me – that's where I got this," he said, one hand indicating the blood coming from his shoulder, "And he backed down. Then they stabbed him through the back."

Swallowing a growing lump, Tifa's eyes were drawn to the closed eyes of the blond fighter that lay so pale and unmoving beneath her hands. Only the occasional shallow rise and fall of his chest showed that he was still alive. His blood still pooled around her as she knelt, struggling fervently to stop the flow before it caused him more damage than the wound itself.

"We still escaped, obviously," Vincent went on. "It took us a whole day to figure out where we were, and then another to get back here."

Tifa nodded, not in any way confident about her ability to speak in this moment. She felt unwanted moisture welling in her eyes, but angrily blinked it away. She couldn't break down right now, not when she held her closest friend's life in her hands.

"Tifa?" came a small voice from the back door, as Marlene exhaustedly rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "Can I have a drink?"

Eyes widening, Tifa whirled her head around to see the little girl, trying to block out the sight of Cloud with her own body. "Sure," she choked out. "You can get it yourself."

Marlene watched her for a few tense seconds, then noticed the familiar weapon that had been thrown haphazardly on the floor when Tifa had pulled it off. "Is that Cloud's?" she asked, sleep gone as her excitement mounted.

"Go get yourself a drink, honey," Tifa ground out.

But it was too late. The girl had spied Vincent, and then the booted feet, the dark clothes, the spiky blond hair . . . and she knew something was wrong. Cloud, her hero, should not be lying on the ground so quietly. He was normally quiet, but the way he was laying there, his face turned the other way, was disturbing to her.

"Is Cloud dead?" she asked abruptly.

"NO!" Tifa snapped defensively, instantly regretting her sharp tone when she saw Marlene's lip quiver. "He's not dead. Can you run along to bed? I'll let you see him in the morning."

The little girl swallowed and then nodded, unsure of the situation but knowing Tifa was trying to protect her from something. She backed away and then left. Tifa took a deep breath, once again focusing her full attention on the man beneath her.

His chest hitched every time he took a shaky breath. His face was paling more and more by the second. And his deep crimson blood oozed over the reddened towel that Tifa's trembling arms held there. She wanted to give him a potion to ease his suffering, but they had been scarce for a while. She would have to use the normal means of helping, and that didn't seem to be working very well.

"Are you going to pass out, too, Vincent?" she all but whispered.

"Mine was a graze," came the stoic reply. "It's not as bad as his. I'm actually surprised he stayed up so long. After all, it happened two days ago."

Tifa permitted herself a slight grin in spite of the situation. "Yeah, he's pretty stubborn when he wants to be."

Vincent snorted, a sound the bartender decided to interpret as his version of a laugh. Finally, the blood flow was slowing to a stop. Tifa knew that she had to act now.

"I'm either going to have to cauterise it or sew it up," she said aloud, though the comment was aimed more at herself than either of her companions.

"Sew it," he said, making her jump when she realised she must have spoken out loud. "It's just as effective for this and it won't hurt as much."

She nodded her agreement, lifting her hands off the towel to reach for the needle in her first aid kit. Threading it was tedious and difficult, considering her shaking, but she eventually managed to get everything ready.

"I hope he doesn't wake up during this," she mumbled as she drew the bloody towel away from the wound and gently stuck the needle into Cloud's skin. From somewhere in the depths of his unconsciousness, he must have felt the pain of it, for his head twitched, his breathing seemed to snag on something for a second, and a very low moan escaped his lips. Tifa froze, half-expecting him to sit up and tell her to stop. But he didn't move again. She took another steadying breath and started sewing again, ignoring the groaning reaction she got from her patient.

And, as if it wasn't bad enough to have to do that once, she had to carefully roll him over in order to get at the wound on his back. It was even more gruesome than the other, as it was the place where the sword had entered his body. He twitched a few times as she sewed this one up, but still failed to awake.

When she was finished, she placed gauze pads over the sutures, taping them down and then moving her hands to his sides to finish checking him out. Vincent had said Cloud was already fighting when he had awakened. He could very easily have gotten injuries that weren't as visible. She sighed in frustration when her hand – not more than an inch away from the stitches – touched a spot that was too tender for ribs. He obviously had either cracked or broken them. It didn't matter which; all that mattered was continuing to patch him up. She checked the rest of his torso, satisfied when she found no more wounds.

"Help me to sit him up," she ordered Vincent, grinning when he immediately came to do her bidding. His strong arms held the blond warrior in a half-seated position while Tifa wrapped up the painful ribs. Then, the two of them laid his head back down, disappointed when he made no move or sound during this process. Tifa went on with her search, checking his legs and arms, and moving to his head. He'd obviously had a head injury, judging from the cut just above his temple hidden under some of his spikes. But it was healing and was probably the original hit used to knock him out. It wasn't a problem. He hadn't seemed to have a concussion, in spite of his confusion when she yelled at him – but that was more likely from the blood loss, anyway, so it left little concern in her mind. She would just have to keep a good eye on him when he woke up.

His left bicep had a slice on it, too – nothing that needed stitches or even was very dangerous, but Tifa figured she might as well bandage everything up while he was helpless to stop her and pretend nothing was wrong. With a few extra minutes, she had examined his entire body and was sure she had applied first aid to all of his injuries.

"We need to get you to a nice, warm, soft bed," she said in a mothering voice to the man sprawled on the floor. "But how to get you up those stairs?"

"I called Barrett," Vincent said suddenly. Tifa jerked her head around, almost having forgotten he was there. "While you were stitching him up," he added in answer to her questioning look. "I got a cell phone right after that whole Sephiroth incident because of what happened at the Forgotten City. He's on his way."

She was shocked. She hadn't heard his voice or the dialing of the phone or anything. But then, shrugging, she nodded. Barrett's help would be quite useful right now. "Won't it take him a long time to get here?" she asked.

"He's close by."

"How --"

"He's just close by," Vincent reiterated, effectively ending that conversation.

Tifa nodded again, wondering how close was close by, and then smiling in relief when the door opened and the black man walked in. He looked down at his unconscious friend, a sharp intake of breath betraying his calm exterior. "He needs a bed," he said by way of greeting.

"I know," Tifa answered. "I was just wondering how to get him there."

Barrett smiled, knelt, and scooped Cloud into his arms far easier than he should have. Cloud was not a large man in any sense of the word, but well-built muscles lined every inch of his body, making him significantly heavier than he looked. But this didn't even slow down Barrett, who grunted softly once with the weight and then headed for the stairs. Tifa slipped past him at a run, taking the stairs two at a time and then flicking on the light in Cloud's room. She was pulling the covers back on the bed as Barrett entered the room, depositing his precious burden on the clean sheets. Together, they removed his boots but elected to leave the rest of his clothes on. There was no sense in disturbing him or his privacy any more than necessary.

Barrett immediately went back to check on Vincent, while Tifa took another minute to gently draw the blankets around Cloud's wounded form. He looked so peaceful in sleep – a luxury he rarely permitted anyone to see him taking. He was up late at night and up again early in the morning. But now, his face was relaxed, void of the guilt and self-depreciation that had become so commonplace to him in the last few years. Unable to resist, she softly brushed a clump of thin blond hair away from his face, smiling when it fell right back to where it was. He'd always had unruly hair. It was one of his redeeming qualities.

Sure now that he was completely tucked in and safe, Tifa crossed the room quietly to the door, pulling it closed so he wouldn't be disturbed in his healing sleep. Then she went down to where Barrett and Vincent were talking.

"Well," she said pleasantly, interrupting their conversation, "I think it's your turn now."

Vincent tried to scowl but failed, and finally shrugged his reluctant acceptance of the situation. "It's really not bad," he insisted.

"Let's not let it get too bad," she retorted. Barrett grinned.

Tifa pushed shirt up, nodding in agreement that the wound wasn't very bad. It wouldn't even need the stitches that Cloud's had required. After cleaning it out, she used gauze and tape to patch it up. With that out of the way, she bent to gather up the first aid supplies, which were now strewn all over the floor. Then her hands closed on Cloud's bloody shirt and his sword. Barrett took them from her hands.

"I'll put them next to Spike's bed," he offered. "He'll want to know where everything is when he wakes up."

Tifa nodded, watching him disappear with Cloud's belongings. She finished cleaning up and put the kit away, returning to check on Vincent, who still hadn't moved from his chair.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Wonderful," he shot back, a little more angry than he intended.

Tifa, however, had expected a reaction like this, now that she seemed to have a handle on the situation. She put a hand on his shoulder, not moving when he flinched. "You can stay the night, too."

He licked his lips. "I'm going with Barrett."

She smiled, glad the other man had come to help. She couldn't have accomplished what was needed if he hadn't been there. "Just so long as you're not alone," she put in.

Vincent snorted again, a sound that could mean anything from disbelief to agreement. Barret chose that moment to reappear, pulling Vincent to his feet and heading for the door. "We'll be back in the morning," he announced, disregarding his companion's look of surprise. "You know . . . to check on Spike and all."

"I'll be expecting you," Tifa answered as the door closed behind her friends.

Her heart was heavy and she felt like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders as she climbed the stairs, stopping at Cloud's door involuntarily. Without a second thought, she pushed open the door, closed it behind her, and went to his bedside. There was one chair in the room, and she drew it close so she could sit next to him. Her eyes locked on where his piercing blue orbs would be if they weren't shaded by his eyelids. And then, for the second time that night, she couldn't resist touching him – her fingers ghosting over his pale forehead.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I should never have doubted you."

She hadn't expected an answer, so she was not surprised when the figure below the blankets didn't move. She should try to get some sleep of her own, but she would not be leaving his side tonight. She had to make sure he was okay. And that was why, in a totally cliché way, she woke in the morning with her head lying on his arm, her right hand protectively clutching his through the blankets. When she realised where she was, she quickly sat up and jerked away.

He was not awake yet, although he thankfully had more color today than he had when he'd come in last night. She dared to pull the covers down, checking his bandages. The gauze covering his wound had a small bit of red seeping through, but it was nothing unexpected. She figured it would bleed a little more before it began to truly heal. However, now that things had calmed down and the sun was peeking through the window, Tifa wanted nothing in the world more than to see those blue eyes and hear his voice.

She put a hand to his cheek and said, "Cloud? Wake up, okay?"

At first, there was no reaction, but then she heard a low moan from deep in his throat, and his head shifted, rolling into her hand. A few seconds later, his eyelashes started to twitch as he struggled to bring himself back to the world of consciousness. And then, to Tifa's great delight, he managed to get his traitorous body under control, blue eyes blinking open blearily as he attempted to focus on his surroundings.

"Tifa?" he rasped out, sounding much weaker than he would have liked.

She smiled. "I'm here. How are you feeling?"

He swallowed as he took stock of his body, closing his eyes slowly and then reopening them with a lot of effort. "Good," he said finally, though his complexion and the pain etched on his features proved that that was a lie.

"The kids will be wanting to see you," Tifa announced, pulling her hand away from him. "Marlene knew you came in last night and she was quite happy. I'm sure Denzel will be just as excited."

Cloud tried to nod, regretting it when his vision swirled dangerously. He blinked a few times to steady it, then focused again on his childhood friend. "I'm a bit tired," he admitted.

"I know," she answered, still with that happy smile plastered across her face. "You can rest for now. I'll be bringing some soup up for you to eat in a bit. How does that sound?"

"Good," he said again. Then his brows creased in confusion. "Are you mad at me?" he asked honestly, still trying to piece together what had happened when he'd come in.

"Not a bit," she responded. "I'm really sorry about the way I acted last night. It was totally uncalled for. I think I just needed someone to yell at, and you walked in at the right time."

He nodded, this time with far better results, eyes leaving Tifa to roam to the table beside his bed, where he spied his sword and shirt.

"I missed you," she whispered, still backing toward the door. His eyes shot immediately back to her in surprise. She grinned and then escaped out of the room.

Thirty minutes later, he was attempting to sit up and dress himself when the door reopened and she came in with the promised soup. She scowled at his unwillingness to lay there and heal, pushing him down to a half-sitting position once she had deposited his bowl on the nightstand. He sheepishly and innocently blinked at her.

Shaking her head, Tifa feigned exasperation and said, "Whatever am I going to do with you, Cloud? I'm probably even going to have to spoon-feed you."

Eyes going wide, Cloud snatched the spoon out of her hand and rolled his eyes when she chucked, not realising until then that she was kidding. She lifted the bowl to his lap and watched too intently as he ate. It probably made him uncomfortable, she knew, but she couldn't convince herself to look away. He was sitting here, in his bed, eating and not looking like he was going to run away from her. And for that, she was glad. Guilt plagued her for the way she had treated him last night, but it was worth the relief that Vincent's horrible story had brought. Cloud hadn't intended to leave them again; he had simply run into a bad group of people that wanted to see him dead. She had forgotten to ask Vincent who the men were or what they were doing to the two warriors, but that didn't seem important to her anymore.

He smiled like a small child when he slurped up the last of the warm liquid, having enjoyed it much more than he first expected. And Tifa took the bowl, grinning back, then handed him his shirt. "I know it's too much to ask you to stay there," she announced as she went to the door, "so all I'm asking you to do is be careful that you don't rip my stitches open."  
"Tifa," he called out as she was halfway across the threshold. She stopped and half-turned to face him.

"Yes?"

A million emotions flittered across his face in a few seconds, and it seemed like a struggle for him to pick one. "Thanks," he said.

"No, thank you," she said back.

"For what?" he asked, confusion marring his face again.

"For being more reliable than I gave you credit for. For proving me wrong. For being alive. For being here." And with that, Tifa whisked herself out of the room, grinning wildly as she took the bowl back to the kitchen. Yes, indeed, things were good. And it seemed that they would only get better now.


End file.
